We're in the Plaza de Toros in Córdoba or Mexico City as the trumpets sound and the castanets click. The company's downsizing: three into two won't go, and our trio of sales people await with trepidation the manager's axe. For alpha male Tony (Daniel Collier - excellent, bursting with aggressive bile) and calculating Isobel (Georgia Laird) it stands to reason that the head trembling on the block belongs to colleague Thomas (Stanley Righton); in their struggle to survive, no blow is too low. The metaphor in the title is tactfully suggested by designer/director Samson Hawkins; bullfight music is muted, not braying, and we see just a little arena of sand at our feet, as yet untainted by the gore yet to be spilled but represented by the scarlet slash of a matador's discarded cloak.

The play's focus is usually billed as office politics, but that's to underplay the scope of Bartlett's target. He has his shotgun squarely lined up on dog-eats-dog capitalism, where market forces overwhelm niceties like co-operative endeavour, and he cuts through the fat of management-speak vocabulary down to the bone and sinews of Darwinian survival.

Thomas' initial attempts to give as good as he gets with picador Tony and bandarillero Isobel founder when, asked what his father does in life, he pauses for an age before a sullen: 'He's a Maths teacher', only to have this unexceptionable fact gleefully torn to shreds by his adversaries. When manager Carter (Alex Ansdell, bringing convincing sliminess to the part) finally appears, casually laden with folding bike and faux bonhomie, he soon ditches human relations procedures, snapping out to the blustering Thomas: 'If you stay, I'll make your life a nightmare!'

Hawkins has had the challenge of manoeuvring his cast within the tiny playing space, while we aficionados of the dance of death sit within touching distance of this toro and these toreros. I was never conscious of cramped staging. The minimalist but startling set is supplemented by the costuming of Tony and Isobel, smartly dressed for their day of destiny, while the hapless Thomas is a little down at heel, one unpolished shoe trailing a shoelace.

The lights bore down on the spectacle, an unpitying Andalucian sun, as Tony, inviting his colleagues to get up close and personal with his bare chest and stomach, goes head-on at his prey. Meanwhile, Isobel plants her darts until her final long monologue, where she picks up her matador's sword for the denouement. Both in this super-demanding speech and throughout, I hardly know what aspect of Georgia Laird's performance to praise most: her varied speech delivery, her total grasp of her character's veiled malice, or the difficult balance she found between stasis and movement - perfectly judged. Just terrific!

Here was the third MCS production I've seen in the past twelve months. This little coruscating gem of a Bull once again reminds the other players in the Oxford youth drama scene that the height of the bar MCS is setting is so very high.